Aktion 23 is a labyrinthine web of dissonant energies, woven into the very fabric of chaos itself. Born from the primordial chaos, it is neither an ideology nor a movement, but an occult anomaly, a conceptual rift that pulses with the anarchic will of Eris, the Goddess of Strife. She, who is neither benevolent nor malevolent but exists solely as the rupture in harmony, an agent of chaos unbound, the agent of entropy. This force is worshipped not through rituals of prayer, but through immersion—into the erratic, the disjointed, the random. Those who enter the orbit of Aktion 23 don’t just learn about it; they become it. The entity is as much a puzzle as it is a trap, and those who seek it may find themselves ensnared in ways that defy understanding.

At the center of Aktion 23 is a constellation of figures, each embodying a facet of the chaotic order Eris represents. First, there’s Metuslav Bratelevskie, the architect of paradox, whose mind is a fractured mirror of contradictory principles. His most well-known work, The Aleatory Codex, is an untranslatable manuscript containing fragments of chaotic mathematical symbols, designed to be read only by the most disoriented. It is rumored that reading it can induce a state of psychotic enlightenment, where the reader perceives all of reality as an infinite series of coincidental errors. He is both revered and feared as the high priest of patæconomics, the study of economic randomness, and the internal logic of financial instability.

Then, there’s the Dude of Germs, a once-forgotten entity that was resurrected through computronics—a field that fuses cybernetics with biological decay, creating a hybrid of technology and infection. He exists as an avatar of systemic contamination, an ever-mutating virus of the mind. His podcast, Germ Theory, can only be described as a constant, pulsing drone, a soundscape that burrows into your skull like a parasite. The Dude’s voice, or what passes for it, resonates in the gaps between thought, inducing hallucinations and temporal distortions. He teaches zenarchy—a philosophy that embraces total randomness in political structures, where control is relinquished in favor of ungovernable spontaneity.

Xaxas, the most elusive of the figures, communicates only in distorted, fleeting whispers. It is said that Xaxas is not one individual, but rather an idea, a collective entity that exists beyond the bounds of identity. Xaxas speaks in riddles, often introducing the concept of cuil theory—a radical new approach to reality that suggests each individual exists on a quantum plane of disorientation, a state where self-awareness becomes the ultimate form of confusion. To understand Xaxas is to abandon all semblance of coherence.

Rüdiger von Finckendorff, a once-prominent physicist turned mental avionics expert, claims that human consciousness is merely a glitch in the quantum web of existence, an artifact of a failed system. His theories on psychonautics suggest that the human mind, if properly tuned, can interface with parallel realities, navigating the subatomic realms like a pilot flying through the void. Von Finckendorff's work is intertwined with his explorations into quantum bogodynamics, the study of how micro-scale chaos impacts macroscopic events—how a single ripple of instability in the quantum realm can cascade into political upheavals, social unrest, or even sudden existential crises. His equations are said to make little sense until you experience them first-hand, like trying to taste a sound or see a feeling.

Lastly, Pink Monaco, the enigmatic artist-philosopher, is said to be the high priestess of desenrascanço—the Portuguese concept of „uncomplicating oneself from complex situations.“ Pink Monaco’s work is an immersion in simplicity through chaos, often using bright neon colors and disorienting patterns to create a sense of displacement in her audience. She believes that the more the individual struggles to comprehend, the further they fall into the clutches of activitism, the radical belief that true freedom comes from surrendering any notion of purpose and diving into the heart of absurdity.

The true face of Aktion 23 is not a singular, unified truth but a fractured multiverse of thought. It is the religion of the fragmented mind, where believers do not find solace in answers, but only in the unending spiral of questions. The central dogma is not understanding, but doubt—to ask, to question, and to never find closure. One does not worship Eris by seeking order, but by surrendering to the dissonance she cultivates.

There exists, somewhere in the darker corners of the Internet, a podcast associated with Aktion 23—The Strifecast. It is not what it seems. It cannot be listened to, only experienced. It is an unending loop of low-frequency sound, broken speech, and chaotic bursts of static, which, when played, will slowly erode your sense of linear time. The effect is subtle at first, but soon the listener finds themselves in a heightened state of confusion, perceiving a series of visions and hallucinatory events that distort the very structure of reality. It is said that no one who listens to the Strifecast remembers what they’ve heard, only that it has changed them, reshaped their understanding of what is real.

Aktion 23 is not a cult in the traditional sense; it is something more dangerous, something more insidious. It is a call to unbecome—to dissolve the self in favor of the chaos of the void, to follow the path of Eris not as a deity to be worshipped, but as a force to be embodied. Those who fall under its sway cannot be saved, for to be saved would be to undo the work of the Goddess herself. Aktion 23 isn’t a journey toward clarity; it is the descent into the heart of confusion, where meaning itself becomes irrelevant, and the only truth left is the eternal churn of cosmic entropy.